Legacy
by THEClubAtlantis
Summary: The trials and tribulations of group of friends as they grow their world of basketball from High School/AAU to College/International to NBA/FIBA.


**The Legacy**

**Arc ****Fear God**

**Season One / Chapter One ****"****Crew Love****"**

"How do I look?" She asked after a quick inspection. "Do you think he'll even notice me?"

Her taller, more maturated and attractive friend, Priscilla's lips dropped into a frown, "Even Stevie Wonder would notice you. Hon, you look beautiful?"

"Thanks," She smiled tenderly. It was her first-time applying makeup for an actual occasion. She had practiced a thousand times in private but right now 'she' needed the confidence in herself to do what she'd been hired to do.

"Besides," Priscilla pressed her lips together, studying her enhanced visage in the bathroom mirror, "'their kind' loves us. We're a rare commodity to them, exotic. All you have to do is treat 'them' kindly and they'll fall in love with you."

"I just…" She sighed, "I can't believe my dad…"

"Wake up," Priscilla scoffed, "Believe it, he's the coach, it's kind of part of his job to recruit talent."

"Yeah, I know but…." She sighed, "Why me? His own daughter?"

Priscilla rolled her eyes, "Ya know how these negotiations go. Hypothetically speaking, you just had to go to that game with him. Now Shaq wants a piece of you. He didn't take his eyes off you the entire game and well, you saw, he was Superman the entire game. 30 points, 20 rebounds 6—"

"Okay, okay, whatever," she scoffed.

"NO!" Priscilla spun around, staring at 'her', "There is no whatever. You have to do your homework if you really want them to like you, do you even know what his name is?"

"Of course I do," 'She' scoffed, running her fingers through her shoulder-length almond-brown hair, "He's all my father keeps talking about. Everyday, walking through the house driving us all crazy. How do I get him? How do I get him? What does he want? Apparently, he's different from most of the recruits that only want money, cars and jewelry."

"You already know who I have my eyes on," Priscilla winked, "And I know everything he likes so I guarantee who sees and wants me," smiling proudly, "Dark hair," brushing her long ink-black locks, "darker skin," she showed off her freshly tanned skin, "I may not look like Nicki Minaj but I'm pretty dark for a white girl," she smiled, "now, help me, black men like a big donk," pulling out cotton pads and apple-bottom jeans.

She rolled her chocolate-brown eyes, carefully guiding the jeans up Priscilla's waist. This was how it worked usually. She had known it for years but had never thought she'd be caught in the trenches of the never-ending war of the worlds amongst college coaches to recruit primetime talent. After the worst season in the history of the school, her father's job was on a chopping-block. If he didn't recruit a five-star talent he'd likely be fired and replaced.

'She' wanting time with her father had agreed to go to a game with him. Just wanting some space from her overbearing mother and time from a father she barely saw. At that game she'd been yanked out of a North Dakota suburbia and into an urban setting that she had no idea about. It had been mind-boggling for her. She had only seen black people on television but going into the urban areas of America and seeing so many of them confused her.

Never in her life had she expected to see so many melanated faces, black faces in one place. Occasionally she'd see one. Probably a tourist but he was often wearing a suit and on his way to the airport but this time they were everywhere.

What did her father expect her to do? She was NOT sleeping with him or any of them! Point blank! She'd been raised to preserve herself strictly for the consumption of a wealthy white man and no one else. She understood her father was desperate but not this desperate.

Reality wasn't being kind to anyone with a prejudice ideology. Blacks were the way to the bank for any head coach. Black and Latin players were capable of extraordinary feats on the court. They had extraterrestrial athleticism and the speed of a gazelle. Only the exceptional white man could challenge them due to the 'extra muscle' they had in their legs.

Did her father really love her? She wondered. He did have children from three different women. Every single child he had was a girl and they were all within the same age range, why wasn't sending any of them to this 'party'? Was she still the sacrificial lamb? The ugly duckling because she had been caught with a Michael Jackson poster? Maybe.

"Just go and have a good time. You don't have to do anything you don't want to but he won't be there if you're not there." He had said to her.

The party however wasn't a party that was being organized by him. No. This party was being organized by the alumni of Bel-Air and she understood why.

The Rockwell Career Prep Academy in Atlanta was the favorite to win the national championship and there seemed to be no stopping their Big 3 who seemed destined to dominate and destroy the world of basketball. All three of them had the talent of professional level All-Stars and were already primetime talents that could sell out almost any arena. They were coveted by college coaches but also professional level scouts were climbing over and knifing eachother just for the chance to get a sit-down with them.

What all three had made clear was one clear message? I go where he goes. The Three seemed to be bound together. A package deal that guaranteed championships, billions of dollars and a long-term contract for whatever coach recruited them. Dante Nathaniel with his sniper-like shooting, Leo Timothy, the Prince of the Courts, with his god-like playmaking and athleticism and Chris Lewis was one of the most skilled big men they'd ever seen at a high-school level, capable of handling as well as guard, could pass extremely well, had long-range shooting and unstoppable in the low-post, a coach's godsend.

"Oh God," Priscilla gasped, "I can barely breathe but I'm okay. Thanks, hon." Pulling 'her' into an embrace.

Why were they so different? Those three played basketball for love and money. She was going to this party to seduce one of them for love and money. Were they not so different?

"Is this what…he likes?" 'She' asked anxiously, looking at herself in a mirror.

"Well," Priscilla sighed, "I look like everything Dante dreams of without speaking Espanol."

"Huh?"

"Dante likes Spanish girls, apparently. Chris is an anomaly, really hard to figure out because he doesn't talk much to most people but he does like pop music and is a ＭMadonna fan so…I think it's safe to assume he going to like us."

"And Leo?"

Priscilla paused for a moment, "Leo," she shrugged, "I wouldn't worry about him too much. Just focus on your guy and I'll focus on mine, okay, Becky."

She sighed, "Yeah, sure," she said, knowing that no matter what Chris Lewis had to leave that building a happy man with Gonzaga's stamp of approval.

xoxoxoxo

The party started long before Priscilla, Becky and the Rockwell Academy Reapers had arrived. It was everything that Becky hadn't seen within North Dakota. A California beach house, see-sawing waves and sand, a crescent moon, quiescent breeze, bongs being passed from person-to-person and kegs of beer stockpiled, but the thing that was so foreign to Becky was seeing so many people of different races happily partying amongst one another. Races that she had only seen in movies or on TV were among her. She tried her best not to stare but couldn't help it. She'd only seen a handful from time-to-time but now there were dozens of them before her not acting animalistic or in the stereotypical way she'd been shown that they would act. Latin, Asian, Black and White were acting very similar in the same atmosphere it was almost like a racial science project for her. The music that blasted throughout the beach house was also foreign to her, a combination of techno, hip-hop and pop music.

"Wow," Becky gawked at the sight of so many people dancing and having a good time and the teams, the guests of honor, hadn't even arrived yet. Becky couldn't help but feel intimidated as she surveyed the atmosphere of the party. There were dozens of girls squeezed into the beach house. It was early spring so of course most of them were dressed for a California's warm spring weather while she was wearing jeans and a cardigan. Most of the girls looked like they were in college. Did she or even Priscilla even stand a chance at competing? These girls were more developed from their chests, lips to their hips while Rebecca hadn't even started blooming yet despite being 17. What could she offer a guy like Chris Lewis that they couldn't? They were more beautiful than her, more experienced, more educated, more developed, they were better, how could she win? All Rebecca saw when she looked at them was the money behind them. It only reaffirmed how serious her father likely was about it all. She, being probably the most beautiful girl in their county that wasn't hooked on meth, was his only shot at drawing the Big 3 to his college and saving his job while the other girls were from California, Miami, Chicago, New York, Texas, Louisiana and the other Big States. She was his last and only chance at being able to feed his family and desperate times call for desperate measures.

(Chris Lewis, God, please let him see me.) She prayed as she stepped down the steps and entered the party.

Xoxoxoxo

When a black Escalade cruised through Calabasas, California it was no mystery what it was doing. This was the usual courtship process.

The passengers all marveled at everything before their eyes. Manicured lawns, not a soul could be found throughout the entire area. It felt like a science-fiction movie to each of them. In their neighborhoods, there were always people outside.

When the Escalade slowed to a stop each young man held his breath, unsure of what to say to the other.

From the sequoia-brown double-doors of the house, a man wearing a sharp navy-blue suit and pink tie marched out, "Gentlemen," extending his hand to the three men disembarking from the Cadillac, "How are you?"

Leo (Prince), his feral black-afro made him resemble a dark lion under a moonless sky, took the man's hand first, "I'm fine. How are you?"

Chris Lewis (Larrell), a small crop of curly-black hair atop his head, shook the man's hand's next, "Thanks for taking this time meet with us," Chris then removed his glasses and quickly cleaned them with his shirt before placing them back on his face.

Dante (Carlito), his neck-length pomaded dark hair slicked back, was the last to shake the man's hand, "We're fine," he yawned, looking exhausted and tired but still in a good mood, "And you?"

"Good, I'm Furio Pagnotti," The man smiled, "Pleasure to meet you all," his sunkissed ivory skin sporting a California tan, neatly cropped brown hair made him appear to be a carbon-copy of the same people each man seemed to see everyday except for one thing. Most men in Pagnotti's line of work didn't wear any earrings. Pagnotti wore a single earring in his left ear, a studded-diamond that shined like a prism under the sun.

"Why don't we go inside? I'll show you my house" Pagnotti invited.

"We'd love to." Chris smiled.

xoxoxoxo

"This is a 355 Ferrari Spider," Pagnotti introduced, "$130,000" as he showed off his personal collection of cars.

Then, "You're looking at a 12-cylinder Mercedes, 600 SL - $135,000."

As the three teenagers stood in the parking lot slack-jawed and in awe of the automobiles, Pagnotti motioned, "Now, if you want the best, you come right this way," leading them further into the parking garage, "quarter-million dollar Lamborghini Diablo," grabbing the driver's door and pulling it skyward.

"You can get a house with a quarter-million dollars," Leo gawked.

"Not the houses I'm going to get for you guys." Pagnotti smiled. He then turned to Chris, "You like music?"

"I love music." Chris said automatically.

"It has a $30,000 sound system. State of the art."

"$30,000?" Chris gawked, not even able to fathom that amount of money in a single place or bank account.

"That's a small trailer home in Carolina that you got playing music for you right there," Pagnotti pointed. "Now guys, I know you've got all got girls back at school and whatever may be may be. But you can look like Beetlejuice and drive down a street with this and have 40 girls chasing you," closing the door

xoxoxoxo

"So you're Mafia, huh?" Leo asked before he effortlessly drained a step-back shot on the custom indoor basketball court, "You're down with Gotti and 'em?"

After personally testing Pagnotti's car collection, the three returned to the inside of the home. Chris, Leo and Dante had taken the opportunity to get up shots on the personal underground court built into the giant basement of the house.

"Mafia," Pagnotti scoffed, from the sideline, "Just because I'm an Italian American doesn't mean I'm involved with the mob," he caught the bouncing ball and cradled it beneath his shoulder, "I'm the best at what I do. I'm a sports agent."

Leo held his breath, feeling a sting of shame in himself. He'd spent his entire life being stereotyped and now he'd just cast one on someone else. So this is what it felt like to be wrong, interesting.

"Now," Furio continued, "I don't know if you know this but several NBA teams are interested in each of you right now," he called as Dante rained a third three from nearly half-court.

"Who?" Dante asked, jogging to retrieve the ball.

"At this point in time, I can't tell you who, but I will tell you," raising his index finger to notate his point, "they are contenders."

(Lakers? Spurs? Pistons? The Mavericks?) Leo imagined.

"The money is there," Pagnotti emphasized. "Now, I have the contacts. So apply for the NBA draft now. Right here, guys, are contracts," retrieving folded pieces of paper and a pen, "This makes me your agent. This allows me to represent you. I will take you to the top."

**Choice:**

**X**** Sign with Pagnotti**

**Y Weight your other options**

"I can't," Dante shook his head, staring at the contract, "I still have to weigh my options."

"Three musketeers, bruh," Leo shrugged, siding with Dante. Chris shrugged, supporting the other two and thrusting his hands in his pockets.

"How much do your watches cost?" Pagnotti asked

"Thirty bucks."

"Ninety."

"Fifty."

"Total of a hundred and seventy dollars." Pagnotti calculated, "These right here," holding up three watches, "platinum and diamond Rolexes," and placing it into Leo and Dante's hands.

"For real?" Dante gawked staring at the watch.

"The best you can buy." Pagnotti continued, "Gold? Forget about it. Silver? Forget about it. You have platinum and diamonds that's like having speed and power in the NBA. And guys, those watches are gifts from Furio Pagnotti to you."

"I'll bet there are strings attached to." Dante grimaced.

"There are no strings," Pagnotti innocently raised his hands, "no rubber bands. There's nothing attached at all. Those are $36,000 watches. That's like having a Corvette on your wrist. You can keep those." He smiled

**Choice:**

**Do you accept the ****gift?**

**X**** Yes**

**Y No**

"I can't take this." Leo declined.

"Why not?"

"It's illegal. I can't take it."

"I don't see anyone here," Pagnotti surveyed the court, "Just the four of us."

"There's nobody here, but it's still illegal."

"Yeah, man," Dante shrugged returning the watch.

"True," Chris agreed.

"You know what, guys, I'll keep it. The money we're gonna make together we could buy twenty of them a month if you want to," Leading them out of the basement.

"Whatever," Dante shrugged, taking one bounce and firing a hook shot behind his back on the way out.

xoxoxoxo

The swimming pool in the backyard of the brick two-story mansion was enormous and surrounded by neatly trimmed bushes that hid the shenanigans that occurred in the ultra-blue water.

"Hahahaha," Laughter and frolicking were the sounds that filled the ears of each man as they walked out onto the patio that overlooked the ocean-sized swimming pool. Already in the water, wearing bikinis and swimming to the side of the pool to sip iced-teas and pina coladas were six women of every different race and hue.

"You sure know how to persuade a guy," Leo admitted, as one of the female's waved at him. He nodded and shyly waved back. "This is all good and everything but when we're ready, we're thinking about hiring a brotha to represent us."

"Yeah? Why's that?" Pagnotti shrugged.

"We'd just feel more comfortable with a brotha." Chris added.

"All right, guys, let me ask you a question," Pagnotti stepped between their view of the women and the pool, "What color is this?" Holding out a stack of money.

"Green." The three answered simultaneously.

"You guys are black, I'm white, and this is green." Pagnotti delved, "When making a business decision, the only color that matters is green. Now do you consider yourselves boys or men?"

"Men, of course." Leo responded.

"Okay," Pagnotti nodded softly, "Because men make decisions with their mind," tapping his own forehead, "boys make decisions with their heart. You guys need to sign with me and you need to sign with me tonight."

The three sighed, considering the wealth, power, fame they could have just with the flick of a pen.

"You talk a good game, Pagnotti." Dante nodded.

"Guys, this isn't a game. This is life." Pagnotti stepped aside, no longer eclipsing their vision of the sea of women eager and clawing for them, the collection of automobiles, the gold, diamonds, the mansion, "I can bring you to the Promised Land, guys, all you have to do is give me an opportunity to show you how good I am."

xoxoxoxo

"Think about it." She said, kissing his lips before he climbed back into the Escalade. Leo, seduced by the charms stared at the ceiling of the car, the words turning over in his mind, the contact information to Furio in his pocket.

"What we doing now?" Dante asked as 50 Cent's Get Rich or Die Tryin' blared through the speakers of the stereo.

There's a party going on right now," Chris smiled, "and we've been invited."

Dante shook his head, "We got a game tomorrow."

"Come on," Leo shrugged, "Ain't nobody on the planet that can stop us. They gonna be doin' beyond belief or that old Ripley's Believe It or Not show on how unstoppable we are."

"Do you remember who we playing tomorrow?" Dante scoffed as Chris started playing the old Snake game on his Nokia cell phone. "**Saint Vincent Saint Mary, **championship game."

"It don't matter," Leo waved, "It don't matter who we play. This is God-given," he arrogantly boasted, "All I gotta do is show up," he smiled, "Where we at?" Leo turned to Chris.

"It don't matter," Dante shook his head, "You know who plays for **Saint Vincent Saint Mary, **right?"

"Don't know, don't give a fuck," Leo nonchalantly smiled, "Let's go get some pussy," he declared, drawing a soft chuckle from the driver and a high-five from Chris.

"**LeBron James,** the highest ranked kid in America." Dante clarified.

"Hmmph," Leo arrogantly stared outside the window, "He's only high-ranked because he ain't played us yet. Don't worry bout tomorrow."

Dante shook his head. That was typical Leo. His confidence was high as Everest and it was understandable, on the court Leo was damn near unstoppable because of the size, speed, power and skill he had that was generated from hours of hardwork despite him constantly stating it was God-given.

"You just bein you, nigga," Dante shook his head at Chris, "Always wanna party with white girls."

"You know they're my kryptonite." Chris admitted.

"Yeah, I do," Dante stated, "You know think nobody else knows that. It's kinda funny they have this party out of nowhere after we make the finals and the party just so happens to be the night before the big game. The only high school game that's gonna be on ESPN."

"What are you saying?" Chris asked.

"I'm saying, have fun, I'm not going." Dante shook his head, "I'm heading to the gym."

"Your prerogative," Leo shrugged.

"Y'all hear that new Britney Spears song, My Prerogative?" Chris asked.

"No, nigga." Leo shook his head, "You know I don't fuck with her, Aguilera though, she nice."

"I'll give it a listen," Dante yawned as the Cadillac rolled to a stop in front of the gym. "Coach, gave the day off, man. You should chill out." Leo advised.

"Nah," Dante shook his, pulling his gym bag from the trunk, "You guys already worked out today, right? Well, I slept in this morning. I'ma put in some work. I'ma catch up with y'all back at the hotel."

"Ok, bet." They nodded, shaking hands before the Escalade continued down the street.

Xoxoxoxo

Dante cradled the ball like a child as he stepped into the gym. He expected it to be dark and deserted. Dante was surprised when he heard the clap of a basketball from deep in the gym. He wasn't alone. Someone else was there.

Who?

Dante wondered, stepping onto the court. As soon as he stepped onto the court, he saw **him**, flying through the air like an eagle before tomahawking the ball through the net. **He **landed like a jet, picking up the ball and jogging to half-court. Dante stood, watching as the young man took off charging with blazing speed before catapulting into the air and tomahawking the ball once more. As the ball bounced to the sidelines, Dante caught it and nodded, "I got you," jogging underneath the rim as the young man nodded, returning to half-court.

The young man took off once more.

(Jesus Christ, he's fast!) Dante awed, hooking the ball up and bouncing it off the glass.

The young man leapt it sky again, catching the lob and slamming it through with both hands.

After landing, the young man panted, "You're Dante Nathaniel, right?"

"Nate," Dante confirmed, "And you're-"

"**LeBron**** James **from Akron, Ohio,**"**Hepanted, placing his hands on his knees and wiping the sweat out of his eyes. "What you got? I'll rebound for you."

"What I got?" Dante smiled, trying to not mirror of the arrogance of a certain someone he knew, "No one in the world can guard what I can do."

"I'll rebound for you." LeBron nodded, "I could use the breather."

"How long you been here?" Dante asked, dribbling to half-court. Dante set his feet, closed his right eye, aiming like a sniper staring through a scope.

"A few hours," LeBron replied. (A southpaw?) A look of surprise in LeBron's eyes.

Dante would be a pain to guard. Left-handed players were a rarity that shifted the paradigm and while not impossible to guard they were still an annoying adjustment to make on the fly.

Dante lifted off and fired from nearly 30 feet, "glass," he shouted as his shot rose and fell like the sun before crashing and ricocheting off the backboard and through the net.

"Lucky," LeBron muttered, passing the ball back to Dante.

(I can't show him everything. Just enough to intimidate him.) Dante thought. (He sees I'm left-handed so, I won't show him anything on the right-side.) Dante angled left, dribbling behind-his-back, off-the-bounce he spinned, planted his feet and, rising up, aiming the shot in mid-air and fired.

LeBron watched in awe as the shot splashed through the nylon net.

(How are we going to be able to guard that?) LeBron wondered. Dante had abilities that even most NBA-level players didn't possess. The ability to pull-up and shoot accurate shots from half-way across the court was lethal and could lead any team to championships and could particularly destroy any defense.

(What if I pressure him?) LeBron figured.

Dante watched as LeBron walked the ball up the court, kicking it to the heels of Dante.

"Let's see how you do with pressure?" LeBron said.

Dante smiled. LeBron was so predictable.

Dante scooped up the ball, and placed it on his hip, in the triple-threat position, LeBron blanketed him, arms raised to challenge the shot.

(Damn, he's tall.) Dante growled, jabbing LeBron with elbow. The style of play he'd been taught since a child, if a man got too close, give him elbows. The elbows didn't faze LeBron, he stood firm, rooted in his spot like a tree.

(I can take him.) Dante exhaled, calculating what angle he'd have to take. Dante faked right, jab-stepping.

LeBron didn't bite. LeBron welcomed the southpaw to shoot from the right-side of the court.

(He's baiting me.) Dante thought. (Fuck him.) Dante dribbled right, forcing LeBron to react. (Shit! He's fast!) Dante gawked as he nearly crashed into LeBron. Dante skipped backwards, creating space. (Now!) Dante picked up the ball, took aim and rose up, pump-faking. LeBron leapt to challenge the shot, (Gotcha!) "Glass!" Dante called, jumping in the air and allowing LeBron to collide with him and releasing his shot as he was bulldozed to the floor.

LeBron looked over his shoulder, watching as the shot banked off the glass and through the net.

"And One," Dante nodded, pushing himself to the floor.

LeBron stood at half court in shock.

In a championship game, Dante would be deadly with his ability shoot from such a distance.

Teams would have only three choices, either challenge his shot and risk fouling him for four-point plays, double-teaming him at half-court to take the ball out of his hands which would only open up a teammate or allowing him to carpet-bomb them with three's the entire game and praying he would miss which was highly unlikely given his accuracy.

Rockwell was going to be difficult to beat. Dante was only one of the **Three Kings. **LeBron was only seeing the ability of one of the players. What could Leo do? What could Chris do? And finally, what would all three be able to do on the court with eachother on the same team? What would their complimentary role players be doing?

"One-on-one?" Dante challenged.

"Nah, I'll see you on the court tomorrow." LeBron waved, heading for the locker room.

Dante nodded, "Get my trophy ready."

"Yeah, whatever, bro." LeBron shook his head on his way to the showers. (We'll put them to the test.)

"It's not us you should fear," Dante recited, draining mid-range shot. His voice echoing and chasing LeBron through the gym, "**Fear God**, it was he that created us to conquer and dominate you."

Then, Dante rotated the wheel of his egg-white I-Pod as the song for his shoot around began.

*They say I'm crazy…I really don't care…that's my prerogative

They say I'm nasty but I don't give a damn…getting boys is how I live* Dante quirked an eyebrow, "Not bad," He thought as he banked in a reverse lay-up.

*Everybody's talking all this stuff about me why won't they just let me live*

*I don't need permission

Make my own decisions

That's my prerogative*

Dante smiled as the final three of his Star-Drill concluded. A routine he'd borrowed from Larry Bird and Ray Allen. A routine that another probable superstar named J.R. Smith also used.

"I'm dropping thirty tomorrow." Dante thought confidently as the net swished.

xoxoxoxo

"You want me to honestly say that Saint Vincent Saint Mary has a chance against Rockwell?" Skip Bayless chuckled. "While I do understand that LeBron is the highest ranked high school kid in the country but you gotta ask yourself this, is LeBron going to score every point for the Irish? Is LeBron going to guard Nate, Leo and Lewis all by himself? No he's not. As great as he is, let me give you comparisons. Nate is essentially Ray Allen but not Windows 2000 Ray Allen this is Windows 3000 Ray Allen, Nate is an upgraded version of Ray Allen and so much more but the problem that Saint Mary will have is how long Nate is. Nate is essentially long enough to play power forward since he's 6'10 and can handle and pull up from thirty. Maybe Ray Allen isn't the best comparison; I might have to go with **Dirk Nowitzki**."

"Thank you for saying that and I understand that, Skip!" Stephen A. combated, "I just don't see Rockwell as proven as Saint Mary is."

"Let me finish," Skip raised his hands, "Now Nate is just one guy on that team but he is arguably not even the best player on the team!" Pounding the desk, "Let's go onto Chris Lewis, back to comparisons, I would have to give him **Patrick Ewing**. Big, long, decent handle, good footwork and make corner 3s. How many college or even NBA level big man can make corner 3s, snatch down 20 rebounds a game, shoot free throws and pass as good as he can. The answer zero."

"Now, onto the Leo Timothy who is a freak of nature. He's actually the shortest one out of the three. He's only 6' 4 but the guy is unstoppable on the court. The level of impact he has on the game is astronomical, the way he just explodes on a game and takes it over. You just watch and you just can't take your eyes off him and you find yourself saying, wait a minute, look at that guy, he's just better than everyone else on the court," Skip shrugged, "He can score, he can slither through, he can dunk it, he can block shots, he can rip down rebounds and the most underrated part of his game is his playmaking ability."

"Who would you compare him to?"

Skip Bayless paused, "I want to say Kobe Bryant but Kobe doesn't block dunks and shots from guys twice his size like this guy does. Did you see that chasedown block? He took that guy's manhood with that block! I have never seen a team look so defeated. It doesn't matter how much Rockwell's role players turn the ball over when you have a wall of a man in Lewis, you've got Dante who can score thirty in his sleep and you've Leo is a homicidal maniac on the court. I don't see how LeBron James and Saint Vincent Saint Mary have a chance against that team."

"You've gotta hand it to Skip," Donald Sterling smiled at the television set, "He's about to make us a lot of money."

"So you're betting on the Irish?" Donald Trump chuckled, sipping his whiskey."

"If you were wise you would do the same."

"Why? You know something I don't?"

Sterling turned his head, not saying a word and continuing to watch Sportscenter.

"Skip, I wanna commend you for not labeling Leo Timothy what I know the audience understands that you are hinting at because that's too much pressure for a grown man to have on him let alone a high school boy but all know the name that you refuse to compare him to."

"Right." Skip nodded.

Trump stared at the female anchor sitting between the two of them, "You know what I would do on Sportscenter. I'd walk up and grab her by the-"

"Your drink, sir," The waitress interrupted, placing the glass on the bar counter.

"You must think LeBron is King Kong," Trump shook his head, "Nah, I'm putting my money the Three Monkey Kings instead of one."

"Suit yourself." Sterling smiled, "Monkey Kings vs. King Kong?"

"You're on."

The two men toasted as Stephen A. continued his analysis.

xoxoxoxo

The car slowed to a stop in front of a golden-bricked mansion in Pasadena. Even from inside the Cadillac, Leo and Chris could hear the music.

"That shit lit, for real, nigga," Leo smiled.

Chris nodded shyly, "Yeah, well, kryptonite knows how to party. We've seen the movies."

"Movies? What movies you talkin' bout, nigga?" Leo turned to his teammate.

"Ya know like American Pie-"

"The one where the guy busts a nut on himself just from touching a girl?"

"Bad example." Chris admitted, "But there's some hot kryptonite in that one."

"Meh, average, bro," Leo shrugged, "There's some bitches that I'd stab my aunt to smash. Ya know, Beyonce in that Crazy In Love video. Bruh, I'd slap yo mama, my mama, anybody mama to hit that shit for real, nigga!"

The driver sheepishly cleared his throat.

Chris nodded glancing at their elderly white driver sent to them by Pagnotti. A friend just to chaperone and be a driver to them for the duration of the day. "Let's get in there, man."

Leo shrugged, opening the door and stepping out. "You said one of dem johns invited you here, right?"

"Yeah, she was at our last game." Chris nervously shoved his hands in his pocket as they strode up the stairs.

"She look good?"

"Yeah, nigga, I'm tryna destroy that stereotype of brothas always picking up busted kryptonite."

"White bitches, nigga, just call em white girls. It ain't my fault you addicted to that white." Leo snickered, knocking on the door.

"Damn, bruh, you being ghetto as hell. This ain't the projects. Ring the doorbell."

"Doorbell, right," Leo shrugged, "I knew that," pressing the button and waiting.

Chris was sweating bullets. Leo stood and waited with a smirk on his face, he'd been on this stage a dozen times.

The door opened and in the doorway stood a 5'2 blond with pink highlights in here, "So glad you're here, champ."

"This yo crib, Barbie?" Leo asked, sliding past her and stepping inside.

The 'Barbie' smiled at his boldness, "Excuse you."

"Consider me excused," Leo smiled back at her.

Chris could only shake his head and marvel at him. On the court, Leo was a star, a walking nova of greatness. It was like watching a dragon, a chimera or a lion in its natural habitat. In a social circle he was a star, the lights always caught him.

Chris, knowing of Leo's bloodline, understood that it was likely genetic. His walk, his talk, and the swagger he naturally seemed to have despite the dark history he and his had.

Chris despite his dark history knew that he wasn't comfortable on the stage. He was more comfortable making moves in the shadows and prospering and profiting. The NBA as grand a stage as it was and as huge a talent as he was seemed to be a perfect fit but mentally Chris didn't know if he was so sure if he wanted to be an LA Laker, New York Knick, Chicago Bull, Miami Heat or play on a large-market team. He'd be happier on a small-market team, perhaps a San Antonio Spur, Memphis Grizzly, Charlotte Bobcat maybe.

"What's your name?" Chris asked.

"Alexa," the petite blond smiled, following Leo deeper into the home.

(Becky?) Chris' eyes scanned the party. (Where are you?) walking into the abyss of bliss and madness

**Season One / Episode 2 ****"****Sexy By Nature****"**

"So," Priscilla licked her lips, watching as Leo shook hands and shared a bong with a group of guys, "Dante isn't here?"

Becky nervously glanced down. "I don't see Chris either," she said glumly as Alexa, the hostess of the party surprised Leo from behind, hugging the smoke out of his lungs.

Leo spun around, staring at the blond, "You hug me like you know me."

Alexa paused, unsure of what to say.

"Ya know, I've never kissed a white girl."

Alexa paused unsure of what to do.

"Yeah!" one of the stoners cheered. "Kiss!" He chanted.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! KISS!" The volume swelled and grew, "KISS!"

(What the hell) Alexa shrugged, throwing her arms around his neck. She raised her lips to him.

Leo closed his eyes, already knowing what was about to happen.

Alexa pulled him closer and planted a grandmother's kiss on his forehead.

(The fuck?) Leo backed away.

"BOOOOOOOOO!" The party jeered as Alexa walked away.

Leo shrugged, "Whatever, party on. Even white boys know how to party, right?!"

"Hell yeah, we do! Turn the music up!" One guy shouted, tossing Leo a beer.

"Fuckin' right, I'm Rick James, bitch!" Someone screamed, quoting the Chappelle show.

"Damn, bruh," One of the white boys shrugged at Leo, "She just dissed you, bruh."

Leo smiled, "We're almost grown folk, bruh. Welcome to reality," sipping the beer, "Not every female in the world has a brain which means not every female in this world wants me." Leo chuckled, "If you had a vagina would you kiss me?"

The guy paused, unsure of what to say.

"Of course you would," Leo smiled, "I'm **The Albatross.** Do you know what that is?"

Inebriated and stoned the white guy sorted through his memories.

"It's a bird that appears before sailors. If you shoot it then you're doomed to have bad luck, if you feed it and take care of it and have patience it's a flying lottery ticket." Leo shrugged, "So poor, uhhh, what's her name?"

"Alexa?"

"The Tease or The Bitch," Leo corrected, "The tease, the bitch, that's her name, right? Either or," Leo continued on, "Is doomed to smoke pot, do coke or meth, work for her pops fortune 500 company-"

"That isn't necessarily 'doom' though, bruh."

"Not financially but emotionally and mentally when I'm dominating and living next door with my wife who is ten times what she could ever dream of being, it's going to haunt her. She'll turn 45 become a swinger and we'll see her on Bang Bus, or she'll fail at all that and fake fight as a pro wrestler for a living."

"Damn, man, you got it all figured out, huh?"

"Blame it on the weed, white boy."

"I'll blame it on the alcohol, black boy."

"Fuckin' right," He smiled.

"Hell yeah," the white boy smiled, sharing a bong. "She wants you, man, she just bein' a girl. Doesn't wanna come off as easy. Especially since this is her crib, bruh. She run' this pahtay."

"Run this pahtay?" Leo shook his head, "You gotta say, run this shit or run this bitch, it sounds better."

"Run this shit does sound better," the white admitted.

"Yeah, give it a try."

"Cool, cool, pass the dutchie."

('The Dutchie?') Leo shook his head, "Man, I gotta teach these white boys all night, huh?" He muttered.

xoxoxoxoxo

"Welcome to the dark side." Chris gawked as he explored the party. Nearly every girl in the house was wearing flip-flops, bikini-clad, showing off their tanned, liposuction-enhanced bodies. Every person either had a red cup in their hand or another person in it, pressed against the wall courting eachother for later festivities.

(Well damn.) Chris thought as a passed a couple making out in the corner.

(Just like back at home.) Chris thought as he passed a table surrounded by girls. They sat at the table, sipping drinks, "why do men think their dick is the cure-all for a woman's sadness?" One complained over the Mac Dre and E-40 music that created the Bay Area atmosphere. The girls were not really doing much to converse with any guy at all.

Across the room, Chris spotted a table where a group of guys were doing the same thing. (Yup, just like it. Wall huggers are everywhere.) As he collided with someone dancing and slipped past them, the party was so crowded it was difficult to walk or do anything unless one became a wall hugger. (So there's a method to that madness.)

(Where are you?) Chris thought, scanning the party for Priscilla which was easy for him since he stood seven-feet tall and towered over everyone there.

"Hey, MVP!" A voice called tapping him on the shoulder.

Chris spun around.

"Did you call her yet?"

(Priscilla?) He thought until he saw the speaker.

She stood behind him, hands on her hips, neck-length dark hair sporting lavender highlights, dressed in tight-jeans and a pink-and-green cardigan, her coffee-dark brown skin standing out in the hue of tan and pale.

"Hey, little troublemaker," Chris greeted.

"Hey, big troublemaker," She replied, digging in Chris' pocket and pulling out his cell phone, "Go somewhere quiet, the sand maybe and call her. Remember, we're a good hour or two behind."

Chris nodded, taking the phone and hurrying for the backdoor. "W-w-wait," holding out a hand and grabbing Chris, "Where's Leo?"

"The party?" Chris shrugged, "He's over six-feet tall with a big afro, shouldn't be too hard to find."

"Right," She nodded, placing her hands on her hips.

As Chris hurried out of the backdoor, **she **could feel the looks of disgust from the girls around her. **She **had just cast their albatross out of their lair. Out of their trap and from what they'd overheard she was going after the other albatross among them.

But Lala wasn't here to make new friends. She was here on strictly business.

(Where is he?) Lala (**Liz**) wondered, shaking her head at how one-track-minded Chris and all men were. Chris had the height to see over the entire party and easily find Leo. Lala, on the other hand, was vertically challenged. Standing at 5'5 she was the height of the average woman and couldn't see over the forest of bodies that surrounded her. She was only lucky to find Chris in the wall hugger section of the party.

"Hey, girl-" One dude greeted, grabbing her hips.

Lala sharply pulled away and hurried into the camouflage of bodies away from the face.

"Well, fuck you then bitch-" was likely drowned out by the music.

Lala ignored it, a talent that had been conditioned for years amongst all women.

(He's probably sitting down. Lazy bum!) Rolling her eyes and hurrying through the party in search of him.

Xoxoxoxo

"I am so confused at what a blitz is," The blond college girl drawled, leaning on Leo's shoulder.

"That's football…," he paused, "ma'am," maintaining his manners. "I'm a basketball player."

"I know," she smiled, returning the joint to him, "But, when you guys run your pick-and-roll defense and you pounce on the ballhandler like that, it makes me think of a blitz, the ballhandler is as helpless as a rabbit being attacked by two lions. Blitz?" She repeated, "It sounds a little sexual."

Leo blinked, turning to her, "Well, relentlessly attacking is kinda the idea behind us doing that."

"Have you ever blitzed an older girl?" She asked, leaning closer to him, "You could, ya know!" She said before he could answer.

"Leo!" A voice called over the music.

The combo-guard glanced up and stared into Lala's mocha-brown eyes.

(Shit!) Leo thought downcasting his eyes.

"Where were you this morning?"

The blond turned to Leo, "Is she your girlfriend?"

"NO!" Lala snapped, "I'm his baby-sitter!" She then turned back to Leo, "Why did you miss practice again?!"

Leo shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Didn't we win the last game? Didn't I score 39 points; have 13 assists and 10 rebounds? And we talkin' bout practice, Lala? Not a game! We talkin' bout practice?!"

Lala shook her head. Talking to Leo could be a waste of time sometimes especially when lecturing him on how important practice was. The man's talent was God-given and he didn't require as much as practice as most.

Lala glared at him. She was the babysitter of the Big Three.

A childhood friend that knew the game and kept their heads on straight as well as ensured they were on track for everything they needed to do whether that was studying for tests, classes and keeping them away from all of the loose groupies that seemed to follow the three everywhere.

Down in Georgia, she didn't have to worry about Chris too much unless they were playing a road game but Leo and Dante were always at risk to get a female pregnant. Dante was more focused than Leo while Leo just wanted to party and play basketball.

The guy had shown up to games drunk countless times and still able to score at least twenty and shoot a high-percentage (accurate shots) and dominate.

Being 6'5 and 228lbs and having the speed of a wide-receiver in high school he was nearly impossible to stop. When he ran like the wind he was a locomotive that couldn't be stopped, possibly even at a pro-level. They'd watched him put the ball and a defender through the rim for getting in his path several times.

His God-given abilities coupled with Dante and Chris on the court guaranteed that he'd get an open lane to the basket the entire game. Either member of the Big 3 could score fifty on a given night but Leo's aggressiveness and pizzazz made him a human highlight reel while Dante approached the game with a quiet assassin-like mentality. Chris was more of a go-with-the-flow player. Leo was built for the stage and gave the team its swagger and energy.

Even as the stallion he was, Lala had to get him out of that party.

Leo had a game tomorrow and there were too many vultures closing in. She could feel their eyes on her, leering at her. Here comes the black girl to save the young black studs from the white devils and ruin their night.

Lala glanced around the party, she saw the rest of the team, having a good time and celebrating. Celebrating what? They hadn't even won the championship yet! What were they celebrating? Were they just happy to be on the grand stage?

(Dante, Leo and Chris.)

"DLC." That's what they were nicknamed. An acronym synonymous with video games. **D**own**l**oadable **C**ontent, typically overpowered characters or something extra that made the game a bit more fun.

"You don't need practice," The blond agreed.

(Keep swelling his already over-inflated ego.) Lala thought bitterly. Leo was the largest obstacle of them all. He was as wild as the lion that he mimicked but on the court he was a monster, a demon that couldn't be stopped.

He wore the number 10 on the back of his jersey. 10. Inspired by the demon Akuma from street fighter. The kanji that Akuma wore on his back translated into the word 'Ten' which meant sky or heaven in Chinese. Leo adopted the word 'ten' and converted it into a number. Everytime he would hear the number 10 announced during a game it was only a reminder that he was a gift from God to the world of basketball, a reminder that on the court he was God.

Lala could only roll her eyes at the boy's arrogance but she had to acknowledge that he was an amazing talent but if he actually went to practice he could reach a level greater than Michael Jordan who was crowned the God of Basketball.

How could she sway a guy that arrogant to leave with her?

**Choice**

X Pretend to be his girlfriend and scream at him

**Y Leave him alone, let him party**

(I am so tired of this shit.) Lala admitted, walking away and hearing out the back door. (So tired of this!)

Xoxoxo

"Sorry to call so late." Chris sighed, watching as the waves of the Pacific encroached and retreated, see-sawing over the dark sand.

Chris listened to the voice on the other side of the phone then asked, "Did you take your medicine?"

Upon hearing the response, Chris dropped his face in his hands and shook his head, "No, I put them in the same place. Did you check the bathroom? Bottom counter—did you find it?-okay-take two-okay—okay-I will-" he nodded, "I will—okay-I love you-goodnight, Grandma." Chris sighed before hanging up the phone.

Chris stared at the water. This was the dream. Making it to California, being able to afford good care for his grandmother a dream that was in his fingertips, "I can't blow this game," Chris thought.

"You won't." A voice spoke, sitting beside him, "Finally, I found you." Priscilla said.

Chris smiled. "It must be destiny, huh?"

"Maybe." She shrugged. She couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. Here she was, alone and in the dark with a black man for the first time in her life.

Chris glanced at her, she was shivering. She looked cold maybe.

**Choice**

**X**** Offer your hoodie**

Y Keep your distance and talk

xoxoxoxo

Dante lied in his hotel bed and stared at the dark ceiling. It'd been a good workout. He couldn't miss, as usual. LeBron James was an impressive talent. Without a doubt, he'd spend majority of the game guarding Leo.

(I'm going to be wide-open the entire game and Chris can plow through their center easily. We're going to win this game with our eyes closed.) Dante thought confidently as his mind did the math in his head.

Saint Mary's center was 6'9 and barely 210 lbs. Chris was 7'3 and 270 lbs. A walking freight train that could barrel through any defense. This championship game wouldn't be decided on Leo's scoring it would be decided on their ball-movement and spacing. All Dante needed was the ball in his hands and he'd bomb them and force their defense out to the perimeter which would leave Chris wide open. If they needed Leo to get a few baskets, Chris could find a spot in the corner and allow Leo to face LeBron one-on-one, the big money match-up that millionaires and alumni were betting on. Which of the two was better? Who would outplay who? Who would stop the other between them? With such similar skill-sets and a phenomenal understanding of the game it was no secret what the NBA and college scouts were coming to witness.

Chris and Dante were already anointed to be in the league and were peerless. Leo and LeBron were great in their own rights but they were constantly pitted against despite playing different positions. Dante however was always pitted against a very potent scorer from New York named **Carmelo Anthony**. Though Dante was the better long-range shooter, Carmelo had the larger body and could also play closer to the basket and take punishment that Dante couldn't, an area that Dante wanted to improve in.

Dante thought back to playing on the courts as a child and early teen. He'd watched other guys get hammered and knocked down hard for even thinking about going into the paint. So he'd learned how to shoot from long-distances. Distances from which he'd be untouchable and not have to take that physical punishment and risk injury.

The teacher of his jumper was his uncle, Ricardo. An uncle that he'd watched a pass away before his eyes in a hospital bed from lung cancer.

xoxoxoxo

"Remember; use basketball as a tool to get to where you want. Life is more than just basketball. Save your money. Build businesses and make your money work for you. Go to college. Learn how to save your money but don't stress yourself out and have fun. Promise me you'll go to college."

Xoxoxoxo

Dante shut his eyes. He never could make that promise because before he could speak, his uncle was gone. Just like that.

Then, Dante's phone rippled in his pocket. Someone had texted him. (Leo? Chris?) He thought, fishing the phone out of his pocket and staring at the message.

IT'S PRETTY LIT HERE. YOU COMIN THRU

Dante stared at the ceiling. What should he do?

**Choice**

X Go to the party

_**Y Go to bed**_

(Gotta stay focused.) Dante decided, texting his reply.

ANOTHER TIME! C U N da morning

Before rolling over and closing his eyes. Imagining and mapping out every shot he would take during tomorrow's game.

Xoxoxoxo

"Thanks," Becky responded. Her politeness was almost like a reflex. "You having fun?"

"Not yet." Chris admitted. "I've been looking for you the whole time."

"You're really thinking about me?" Becky downcast her eyes, staring at the sand, "All those college girls and women and you're thinking about me?"

"Yeah," Chris shrugged, "I didn't come to this party to be with them. I came to this party to be with you."

"You're sweet." Becky admitted, unsure of how to approach her true intentions of being around Chris. How would he react? She wondered. Would he understand? Probably not. She'd be just another one of the masses trying to use him and his name to get ahead. Well, in all honesty, she was. She was sent there to do a job that would benefit her family. "So…still don't know what you're gonna do yet?"

"Nope." Chris admitted, "I still have to weigh my options."

"Is this still you guys and your Three Musketeers mantra?" Becky inquired, "You guys are great friends, right? Good teammates but you are each entirely different individuals in entirely different situations."

"True."

"Dante is a wildcard. You want to take care of your family. Leo is a blank because both of his parents passed away."

Chris stared at her. "How do you know all this?"

"The internet is a great resource. Leo's story is a sad one. AIDs," Becky sighed, "His mother and his father."

"Yeah, it is." Chris admitted, "But…it's only made him stronger."

"All I'm saying is…who's to say that he doesn't go pro. At this point, you have to consider your own interests. What do you want out of life?"

"I don't know to be honest. I haven't thought about all that yet."

(Why not?) "Whether you've thought about it or not college is a win-win situation. You get to boost your draft stock and get a paid for education."

"I know but like I said I have to weigh my options."

"I understand," Becky admitted, "Well, time for you to unwind, right. Thanks," She smiled, peeling the jacket from her shoulders and returning it to him, "Let's dance."

Chris smiled at the petite girl.

In the distance, Lala looked on, shaking her head n frustration.

xoxoxoxo

"Assholes!" Lala exhaled, climbing out of her car and marching up the motel driveway. She couldn't believe them. Chris was really about to throw everything they'd built for a random white girl and Leo was being Leo despite the game of his life about to happen tomorrow afternoon. Dante seemed to be the only one with his head on straight.

(I'll show them.) Lala thought, the arrogance of Leo had lit a fuse that no apology would put out. She raised her fingertips and rang the bell to room 707.

In mere seconds, a young man answered the door. He was extremely tall with lush caramel brown skin, his long black hair was styled into flat cornrows, at the sight of her his face bloomed into a breathtaking smile, "Hey."

"**Carmelo,****"**Lala sighed, trying not to smile at him, "Hey."

"Hey," He yawned, glancing over his shoulder at the clock in the darkroom. He wore knee-length shorts and a white tank-top, "You're still awake?"

"Baby-sitting," rolling her eyes.

"Yeah," Carmelo yawned again, "So why am I awake?"

"Because I rang your doorbell and you want to see me." Lala smiled, "I mean, you want to see me, right?"

"Yeah, of course, I wanna see you." Carmelo nodded. "You okay? You look pissed."

"Well, babysitting those three will make anyone mad. You and LeBron are friends right?"

"Yeah, we cool." Carmelo nodded.

Lala dug in her purse, "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be doing this but…," Lala pulled a notebook out of her purse, "I'm going to give you this."

Carmelo took the spiral notebook in his hand, "What is it, a rhymebook?"

"You'll understand when you look at it." Lala nodded, "They're going to know I gave it to you. And then, they'll figure out that gave it to LeBron."

"So I'm a messenger?" Carmelo scoffed.

"It's up to you."

"Is this so you don't feel guilty? So when they come to you and claim you snitched on em to LeBron then you can honestly say you didn't?"

Lala shrugged, "I guess so…I just feel bad. Dante gets it. He works hard everyday. Leo just party's and Chris is just chasing white girls instead of wanting to actually chase a true victory."

"Well, victory depends on the person." Carmelo shrugged, "Maybe scoring ten points per game is an accomplishment for Shawn Bradley but it's a failure for Jordan or Kobe."

"Well," Lala smiled, "They are leaders…just like a certain person from Boston and unlike a certain someone named after the capital of a racist state."

"Yeah," Carmelo agreed. "You wanna crash here tonight."

(Do I?!) Lala thought, looking at Carmelo's angelic face. "No, Carmelo, I'm not going to be one of your groupies."

"It ain't even like that."

Lala smiled, tenderly walking away, "Goodnight, Melo."

"Night," Carmelo yawned closing the door. (She wants me.) He thought flicking on the light and opening the notebook.

(OH SHIT!) Carmelo gawked flipping through the pages. (Anybody that sees this book will know how to beat them. Damn, they must've pissed her off, for real.) Carmelo thought.

**Leo is Magic Johnson****'****s illegitimate son. Magic gave his mother aids and she died of it. Leo shows off so much to try to get his father****'****s attention. Magic won****'****t publicly claim him or the life that he is responsible for ****because it'****s bad for business. Leo****'****s character is going to be so dope, him constantly fighting for acceptance and love and we also see his anger on the court.**

**X****oxoxoxo**

Would he think she was easy? How far should she let it go? This was a once in a lifetime opportunity? Was she making the right decision? But he was so cute and tall, how could she say no! She thought as she stumbled out of the cab and followed him up the staircase to his motel room.

"Shhh," Leo shushed as he helped her up to stairs, shouldering her weight and guiding her upstairs as the alcohol hammered away at her mind and body.

When you slipped his key into the door, she was silent. They both were. Awkward, timid, scared and the natural stage fright that preceded sleeping with anyone for the first time gripped them.

But as soon as he opened the door, she felt herself thrown backwards and out of the room. She heard the lock click as the door shut. When she opened her eyes a tall beefy white man, body and neck covered in tattoos with a bald head stood in front of the door, guarding it a bulldog.

"Wha-"she gawked.

Behind the door, Leo's eyes widened.

An extremely tall man stood before him. He had dark coffee-brown skin, wide eyes and a dazzling smile a clean shaven head and was wearing a mocha brown suit and tie. One of the most recognizable figures in California smiled at Leo, "Hey, son," he smiled.

"Dad," Leo smiled, darting forward and outstretching his arms and hugging his father, "Are you coming to my game tomorrow?"

"You know I'll be there." Ervin 'Magic' Johnson smiled, "But I really wanted to talk to you about your future. Are you going to college because I'd really like you to."

"Not you too, Dad!" Leo hissed, "Everyone asks me the same questions everyday."


End file.
